Yuletide Songs
by Jishoshojo
Summary: Based on A Christmas Carol-Sort of AU-PG just in case. Raistlin is bitter and cruel; when three ghosts visit him on Yuletide Eve, they give him a new outlook on life.
1. Raistlin

Yuletide Songs  
  
Disclaimer: If I owned Dragonlance, this would be published in a book. I would not be putting it up here. Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman own DL. Kay?  
  
Chapter One  
  
"Shalafi."  
  
Dalamar's voice was very soft, very precise, with a slight Silvanesti accent. It held a trace of fear- more than a trace, Raistlin noticed. His apprentice sounded terrified, and Raistlin reveled in his power to frighten even the normally cool, collected elf.  
  
"Yes, apprentice?" the archmagus rasped.  
  
The elf cleared his throat. "Shalafi, I- there's a party, you see, at the Conclave. A Yuletide party. And- could I go? With Jenna? I'll make sure to brew some tea for you first, and it won't be hard for you to just heat it up whenever you need some. Or you could come to the party, too, Shalafi-" Dalamar stopped, wincing at his Shalafi's wheezing laugh.  
  
"Oh, I could go, could I? And just what, apprentice, would I do at-" Raistlin put enough scorn to blot out the sky into his next words- "a party?" His bitter laugh quickly turned into a hacking cough, and Dalamar gave him a handkerchief, saying:  
  
"You could dance, Shalafi."  
  
Raistlin was hysterical now, tears of pain running down his face, and laughing all the while at the absurd image his mind conjured up of him, Raistlin Majere, dancing one of the silly waltzes that his twin had tried to teach him in their younger days.  
  
"Shalafi?"  
  
"No, apprentice. You will stay here."  
  
"Very well, Shalafi," Dalamar murmured, holding back tears of his own. The party would have been an escape from the dreary tower and his drearier Shalafi, if only for a short time. An escape. Dalamar loved what his Shalafi taught him and even, in a way, his Shalafi, but he was always scared, scared of what the Master of Past and Present could do to Dal if he chose. Raistlin's handprint still bled beneath the elf's robes.  
  
"You are dismissed," Raistlin hissed.  
  
"That rhymed, Shalafi! 'You are dismissed, Raistlin hissed'! Oh, wow!"  
  
"What the heck?!"  
  
"Sorry, Shalafi. Nothing. What I meant was, I have a letter for you. From Lady Crysania."  
  
"Leave it on the table, then."  
  
Dalamar set the letter down gently and slipped out of the room with the grace possessed by all elves. His Shalafi picked up the letter and broke the seal.  
  
Dear Raistlin,  
  
I'm quite sorry to ask this at such late notice, but I was wondering if you would care to spend this Yuletide with me? I fear you will be lonely, alone in the Tower, as I'm sure that your apprentice will be at the Conclave's party. I, too, would greatly appreciate some company.  
  
Yours, Crysania  
  
Raistlin carelessly threw the letter into the fire.  
  
A/N: Maybe it's a little lame, but it is the first fanfiction I've done. If you have the time, I'd really appreciate it if you would review and tell me how I did.  
  
Also, does anyone know how to put italics in? If so, would you please tell me? Thank you!  
  
BTW, some rather amusing things came up on my spell checker for the different names:  
  
Raistlin: Waistline, Ritalin  
  
Dalamar: Calamari  
  
Shalafi: Salami  
  
Can't you just picture it?  
  
"Salami."  
  
Calamari's voice was very soft, very precise, with a slight Silvanesti accent. It held a trace of fear- more than a trace, Ritalin noticed. 


	2. Nikora

Dear lawyers and authors,  
  
I would like to take this time to mention that I do not own Dragonlance, nor do I claim to do so. I ask you to please not sue me, as I am saving money at the moment for something rather important and also do not really feel like being sued just now, thank you all the same.  
  
Very sincerely, Jishoshojo  
  
Thanks to Jezrael the Jealous (pretty name!), jedismuggler, RavenKitty, Cami, and Ironi Numair for reviewing, there are notes for you guys down at the bottom.  
  
Chapter Two  
  
//Snowflakes are pretty things,// Raistlin thought. //One of the few things that are not ruined in my eyes, for winter is all that these hourglasses see. And snow is the only beauty I find in it. //  
  
It was late that same night. Dalamar had retreated to his room- crying, Raistlin suspected. Weak elf.  
  
Raistlin had been staring out the window for the past half hour. Happy little children singing Yuletide songs were frolicking in towns outside the Shoikan Grove, he knew, and he could almost imagine that he heard their sweet, chirpy voices, calling, "Raistlin. Raistlin Majere."  
  
With a jolt, he realized that there /was/ a child calling his name- and she was floating right next to him.  
  
Floating.  
  
"It is late, Raistlin," the girl murmured. "Midnight. And it's Yuletide Eve."  
  
"Wha-" Raistlin would have said something slightly more dignified if he could have thought of anything; however, 'wha-' was all that came to mind.  
  
The little girl smiled softly, kindly, a smile that seemed too wise for her years- but then, Raistlin realized, anyone who suddenly appeared in his chambers was hardly an ordinary person.  
  
"Come with me, Raistlin Majere. Come, take my hand, and we will walk through the Yuletides of your past. Come." The girl extended a small hand. "I am called Nikora. Come with me now; I will show you things you have seen, and yet never truly seen."  
  
Raistlin shivered. He was not frightened of the child, with her sweet young face- young, he noted, this girl appeared young- but he was somehow scared of what she was to show him. He did not take her hand.  
  
"Are you afraid, Archmagus?"  
  
//Yes, little one,// Raistlin thought. //You've no idea.//  
  
Aloud- but not loudly- he hissed, "I fear no one, a child least of all. It is they who should fear me. . . all of them. . . they /do/ fear me; they do!"  
  
Sadness shadowed the girl's blue eyes. "This is why you must come, why I had to go. Do not wish for power of fear, for you will one day fear yourself."  
  
Again, she reached out for his hand, and though he tried to evade her, she caught it. A pale, misty substance swirled around the two. Raistlin coughed, and by the time he wiped the blood from his mouth, the mist had cleared away, and he was in his childhood home in Solace.  
  
He was quite startled when he noticed himself sitting on the bed.  
  
/We will walk through the Yuletides of your past./  
  
Now Raistlin understood Nikora's words. He was in his own past. Odd that it should rattle him now, when he had traveled through time so much.  
  
He watched the little Raistlin look up.  
  
"Hello, Caramon."  
  
"G'morning, Raist. Merry Yuletide! D'you think Mama maybe remembered this year?"  
  
"No," Little Raistlin said harshly.  
  
"Gilon will have, though," came the voice of Kitiara, about twelve years old. "Bet there are presents for you out there." With her thumb, the twins' sister motioned towards the next room.  
  
Caramon grinned and grabbed his smaller brother's hand. "C'mon, Raist! Presents!"  
  
Little Raistlin was pretty much dragged out of the room he shared with Caramon and into the living room, where, as Kit had predicted, lay seven gifts. The stronger of the boys jumped on the pile and pulled out the two for him- one from Gilon, one from his sister.  
  
He also shoved three at Little Raistlin. "These're yours, Raist."  
  
The small boy took the gifts rather unenthusiastically, slowly unwrapping them, looking tired. Caramon happily tore his open and hugged his father, then Kit, who made a big deal out of pushing him away and looking tough.  
  
He then turned to his brother, who was sitting quietly next to his presents. "D'you like it, Raist? It's a little silly, I guess, but I made it myself, an' Sturm's mama let me have the ribbons, an' I worked real hard on the star-"  
  
"It" was a stick. Presumably Caramon had intended it to be a magic wand, going by the roughly hacked star on the top. The boy had decorated it with pink and yellow ribbons, too. Though there were still a couple of leaves on the stick, it wasn't all that bad for a five year old.  
  
"Mages don't use /wands/, idiot!" Amazing how Raistlin could snarl even when he was five. "They have staffs."  
  
His brother shrugged, looking guilty. "I guess wands are just like real little staffs, though, huh, Raist?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Sorry, Raist."  
  
The archmagus, watching silently and unnoticed, did not remember that particular Yuletide. He could tell, though, that Little Raistlin had enjoyed his power over his brother- he had always loved that power. Before he knew of his talent for magic, it had been the only power he had.  
  
Lost in thought, he did not see the mist come down to carry him and Nikora away, but he noticed it fading. This time, he was near the Inn of the Last Home, Caramon greeting Sturm Brightblade while Little Raistlin read in the snow underneath the tree supporting the inn. The twins looked to be about ten. Or, more, Caramon looked twelve and Little Raistlin looked eight- the mage assumed, therefore, that they were ten.  
  
"Here, Caramon. . . and Raistlin." The older boy added the weaker child's name only as an afterthought. "I have brought you these." The Master of Past and Present noticed vaguely that Sturm had the same precise way of speaking as Dalamar.  
  
Sturm handed both the twins packages of the same size and shape. They turned out to be small wooden shields- the sort of thing that Caramon adored and Raistlin had always thought stupid.  
  
"Gee, thanks, Sturm! Wow!"  
  
"......."  
  
"You are welcome," Sturm murmured. Then, in what was obviously just a polite attempt to draw Little Raistlin into the conversation, he asked, "What's that you're reading?"  
  
Raistlin hated that patronizing tone.  
  
"A book."  
  
"What sorta book, Raist?" Caramon surely thought he was being an enormous help by clarifying the situation for his brother.  
  
"Spellbook."  
  
"Lemme see."  
  
Raistlin held the book up, and Caramon leaned over to look:  
  
¥º¦|£¬¥ «¥_ºº¡» f|||-µ|¥º¦ ¬£º¦¦»ª± £µ ||-¥µ£f¥ ºº¦|||»»æ± -]±µ¥ º|ª¬¬£ ¡¬¥¥|||  
  
Inwardly, Raistlin smiled at Caramon's astonished gaze. The would-be mage couldn't read the words any better than a two-week-old gully dwarf embryo could have. He had simply pulled the book off the shelf along with many others that he had sneaked out of Master Theobald's library, and had opened the book simply to see if he could decipher it.  
  
"And you can really read that, Raist?"  
  
"Of course, brother."  
  
"Show me a spell!"  
  
"I think. . ." Sturm began, wary as ever of magic. Caramon cuffed him lightly in the shoulder, an unspoken request to lighten up. Sturm then excused himself politely, but the onlooking mage noticed that he stopped a little way away and looked back, interested despite his loathing for magic.  
  
Little Raistlin selected a pine needle from the ground and held it up. He mumbled some arcane sounding words. The pine needle disappeared, and Caramon watched, spellbound.  
  
As the mist once again came down upon Raistlin and Nikora, something registered in the back of the mage's mind- //Again, power. Always power. But that is all I have ever had. Magic and manipulation.//  
  
Nikora's voice pierced the mist in a much sharper tone than she had used thus far:  
  
"Think, Raistlin Majere, of what you have seen. I did not heed the spirits when I was shown my faults, and you see me now- a spirit. /Listen to me,/ Raistlin. And await the other two."  
  
He found himself back in his room. Nikora was gone.  
  
Raistlin shivered. Dreams. He sat by the window again, but he could not help wondering if it had been real, and if so, who were "the other two"?  
  
Thank you to everyone who reviewed the first chapter.  
  
Jezrael the Jealous: Yes, the rhyming thing was probably confusing; it's an inside joke. Sorry about that.  
  
Jedismuggler: Thanks! You may be right about Dal, it just worked to keep the story going. ^_^  
  
RavenKitty: Awww, so sweet. thank you!!!  
  
Camisole: Vermont? Luckyluckylucky! I bet it was really pretty, with the leaves changing color. LUCKY! And I'll get Fallen Sun from the library tonight, yay!  
  
Ironi Numair: Kay, someone did get the rhyme thing. Cool! ^_^ I really love your writing, so I'll read your TP Christmas Carol as soon as I have the chance! 


	3. Takhin

I'm back!!!! Sorry that took so long, I have waaaaaaaay too much homework . . . and I whine about my

homework way too much.

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonlance. I don't even own the _plot._ Weis and Hickman own Dragonlance, Charles Dickens owns the plot.

Thank you Stacey, Nicolette, Chetwynd, Corinne, Dreya Blackurn, Muslima, and Laralanthalasa for reviewing!

Chapter Three

As the night wore on, Raistlin convinced himself quite thoroughly that he had dozed off, that Nikora was a figment of his imagination. He had not, he reminded himself occasionally, heard the aforesaid figment mention "the other two."

Roughly an hour later, the mage decided to get some sleep. He stumbled to the door, intending to make Dalamar get him some tea, just in case.

Oddly, though, there was someone blocking his way. Raistlin sucked in a breath. This would not do . . .

He did _not_ allow kender in his Tower!

"Out," Raistlin said in a voice of frozen steel. "Get out now."

The kender smirked. "So sorry to disappoint you, Majere, but you really can't order me around. Oh, what's the matter? Never seen an evil kender before?

"Well, that's me. The only evil kender in the history of Krynn, far as I know. Hm? Still tongue-tied, Majere?"

Raistlin's eyes were about the size of his twin's biceps.

"My name's Takhin. Changed it after awhile, used to be something long, very kender-ish.

Couldn't stand it after I turned to Takhisis. Now, if you'll just let me take your arm—" The kender clapped a hand over Raistlin's wrist— "we'll be on our way to certain other parts of Krynn to see what everyone else is up to this Yuletide."

A bright, blinding light covered Raistlin and Takhin, clearing away to reveal a room in the Tower of Palanthas— Dalamar's.

The dark elf sat on his bed with his head leaning back against his pillow. He had obviously been crying earlier; the red rims of his eyes stood out clearly against pale skin. A spellbook rested in his lap, but Dalamar did not seem to be in the mood for studying.

Now Raistlin's smirk mirrored the one the kender's face had held earlier. "Oh, did the party mean _that _much to him? That makes my heart hurt, it really does!"

To Raistlin's surprise, Takhin frowned at him. "It _is _sad. Don't make fun of him."

"So says the evil kender," the archmagus retorted.

Shadows of pain lurked behind Takhin's eyes. "I've learned, Majere. I've learned . . . But I could have learned before it was too late."

"_So_ original."

"It's true," protested the kender defensively. "I was visited by spirits too, you know. And I thought everything they said was a piece of junk not fit to grace the pouches of one of my relatives." He shrugged. "And now I have to run around clearing up everyone else's screwed up lives every holiday."

"How very—"

"Look, Majere, if it's sarcastic it doesn't need to be said right now. And if watching one of maybe three people in the whole gods-cursed world who actually care about you cry about what you did to him doesn't faze you, we're leaving."

"Unfazed. Completely unfazed."

Takhin grabbed Raistlin's wrist, and the archmage winced at the bright light that surrounded them. It faded to show a simply furnished room; Lady Crysania sat on the bed, staring out the window.

"All right, Majere, just watch. No stupid comments, no intelligent comments. Just watch."

Raistlin watched.

He had been working on keeping his eyes from glazing over for about ten minutes when Crysania stood up, brushed and braided her hair, and went to bed.

The archmagus turned to Takhin. "I fear that the meaning of whatever you were attempting to get across was lost on me."

"She was up terribly late, wasn't she?"

"Kender, if you expect me to be concerned with a priestess's sleeping habits . . ."

"Why d'you suppose she's up late?"

"By Nuitari, _I _don't know! Maybe she ate too much! Maybe she's just not tired! Nuitari, I'm still up, too!"

"She was distressed, idiot!" the kender snapped. "And why d'you think she was—"

"How very odd. I never considered the Revered Daughter a damsel in distress."

"Y'know what, Majere?" Takhin hissed. "Y'know what? There were other things I was going to show you tonight. I was going to take you to your brother's house, show you him filling up Christmas stockings and wishing you were there, helping. Show you his son, Palin, who you've never even met, who needs a magic teacher so badly. But, Raistlin Majere, I am going to leave you to the mercy of the third spirit, you are so damned _thick_—"

The kender didn't finish his sentence, and after another flash of light, Raistlin found himself back in his room; the kender was gone.

_I am going to leave you to the mercy of the third spirit . . ._

Raistlin's golden skin paled. Both spirits had left him feeling nervous. He did not look forward to a third supernatural tour of Krynn.

A/N: I know Raistlin's kind of out-of-character here, sorry about that.

Thanks a trillion and some times to Ebony Moonlight for teaching me how to use italics!!! I am eternally grateful! ^_^

Thanks also, those of you who reviewed:

Stacey: Okay, you can have Raistlin and Neal, as long as I get Dalamar and Owen. Deal?

Nicolette: Thanks!!! ^_^

Chetwynd: Turkey? What's this about turkey? I like turkey . . .

Choorananaeth: Thanks, sis! *****huggles*

Dreya Blackurn: He'll feel guilty by the time the third spirit's through with him . . . oh yes . . .

Muslima: Thank you! By the way, is this Zakyu an alter ego or something? Just curious.

Laralanthalasa: Thanks; it's so great getting a review from someone who writes such great fanfiction. ^_^

Another spell checker thing, it suggested McGee for Majere . . . Raistlin McGee just doesn't sound cool.


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